


long x distance x fuse

by gomicchi



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Drinking, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Phone Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-12
Updated: 2015-04-12
Packaged: 2018-03-22 14:20:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3732064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gomicchi/pseuds/gomicchi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Whiskey never fails to make Gon cry which is a problem when he's a continent away from the only person who can really comfort him. Killua thinks he has a difficult time expressing himself through words until he's actually forced to try it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	long x distance x fuse

People see Gon as naked. they meet him and right away he smiles wide, shakes their hand, hangs on every word. He reads like a book. They look in his eyes and see courage and strength. They see exactly what he wants them to see but nothing more. They say, ‘he’s an enhancer’ and trust every smile, every self confident nod, every earnest word and ignore everything else.

 

What people don’t see is every layer beneath that bright veneer. They don’t see the boy that never grew past learning the truth about his father, who lives everyday knowing he wasn’t worth sticking around for. They don’t see the scars from the growing pains earned by fighting in a war, by playing a deadly game in the hopes of earning, not love, but _recognition_.

 

It’s rare for Killua to see these things but when Gon drinks and his defenses are low and the world seems like a much heavier place they’re as obvious as the freckles on his nose.

 

“Killua, please don’t leave…” Gon says once, twice, ten times before Killua pulls him against his chest. Killua places a firm hand on the back of his neck and uses the other to rub circles against the small of his back. Gon buries his face against the angular crook of Killua’s neck, eyes blurry with more tears than he knew he had been holding back.

 

Whiskey makes him cry. Makes his ears warm and red. Makes Killua the only real thing in the world. Gon pets Killua’s hair and strokes it. Runs his fingers through it, slow and focused. He touches each finger to Killua’s high cheek bones and watches intently as the color rises in his pale face. Killua has to take a few shots himself to better acclimate to the gravity of it. He’s not sure he could stand the tension and weight of it otherwise. Gon strips him bare with nothing more than a sweep of his eyes but Killua too wields that power now.

 

“Gon… Gon… Shh, you can feel me. I’m right here…” Once he overcame the initial fright of physical intimacy, Killua mastered it as efficiently as he had any other discipline. In fact, he and Gon use body language and cues more often than verbal expressions to communicate. A kiss, a touch, a nudge. The problem is Killua comes to rely on these actions. Gon, being who he is, basks in the attention, leans into every finger like a flower to the sun. What does this mean for them? What does it say that they can go from grocery shopping to dry humping against the elevator door or working a job to shoving each other against a dirty bathroom stall in less than five minutes? From drinking and laughing to persevering and crying against a bony shoulder in less than three?

 

It means they still have a long ways to go. It means that every scar is really just a scab and no amount of touching and blinding desire and skin on skin and teeth against tongue and short, high breathes will heal them. It means that when they’re 1,000 miles away from each other and Gon gets drunk with the friends he made an hour ago, the scabs start to bleed and there’s nothing he can reach over to and touch to turn the pain to pleasure.

 

* * *

 

 

“Gon?” Killua stares at the tetris blocks on the screen as they pile up, one on top of the other. The breathing on the other line is ragged, “G _on_. A _nswer_ me.”

 

“K _illua_ …” Gon sucks in a shaky breath and exhales on a sob, “It h- _hurts_ …”

 

There's a moment where the transmuter doesn’t say a word. The tetris blocks hit the top of the screen. Game over. The leaky sink drips out a steady pulse. A wave of anxiety washes over him, leaving him hot.

 

“What hurts? Where are you? Did something ha-”

 

“Killua, K _illua_ …” It sounds like Gon is moving around, there’s a muted shuffle of fabric, the sound of something heavy hitting carpeting, distant voices from a television, “I don’t want to be alone… _Hate_ it.”

 

Killua leans back in his office chair, hand sliding through his bangs. They’ve handled long distance before but long distance with the addition of depressive alcoholic tendencies is a new twist. _Killua doesn’t know what to say_. His _body_ knows exactly what to _do_. It’s (to his embarrassment) waking up just at the sound of his partners voice but what to _say_...?

 

“Gon… It’s only a few more days, right? Can you tell me where you are?” Stick to the facts. Relieve the pressure of whatever swollen memories are hurting him. Bring him back to right now.

 

In the hotel room, Gon lays himself down on the bed and rolls onto his side. His finger brushes the plastic of the phone absently and in his mind he can see every subtle shift of Killua’s guarded face. The thought only makes the ache in his chest, so real, so much like a bruise, feel more raw.

 

“‘M in a hotel… Can you, Killua. Can you just- _talk_ to me? I just want to hear you talk to me,” Gon sounds like a child. His voice is muffled against what Killua assumes to be a pillow.

 

“Ok… What should I talk about?” Killua relaxes a little but still takes a long drink of the sweet white wine he poured for himself. His fingers are itching to press and stroke and bandaid but his mind is whirring with what he can do instead to make things right.

 

“Just… I don’t know. Talk about me.”

 

Killua snorts into his wine and wipes his chin off with the back of his hand. Gon waits on in silence, evidently serious in his request.

 

“Alright…,” Another drink, “Gon. You’ve got great arms…You…Can cook eggs really well…You’re kind of a baby-”

 

“ _Killua_ -”

 

“I’m sorry, sorry. Ok,” Killua spins in his chair and tries not to think about Gon alone in a different country, curled into himself on a rented bed. He closes his eyes and lets the wine make him dizzy in the darkness of his own thoughts, “Gon. You… I like to look at your back… Your nose crinkles when you laugh which is, like, a _lot_. I’ve counted all the freckles on your cheeks two or three time but I always come up with a different number and it’s kind of driving me crazy… I love the way your chin is dark by midnight and I can feel your whiskers on my neck even if you shaved that morning, which… you _always_ do. I set my watch by you, not the sun, though I’m almost positive that the two of you are on the same schedule. When I close my eyes and listen to your voice I forget how old we are and all I can see is this weird little kid smiling up at me in a dark tunnel, running with a white badge on his chest. Sometimes I-”

 

“ _Killua_ ,” Gon interrupts and for a moment panic strikes Killua again because it sounds like he’s made things worse.

 

“What? Oh, god- did that… Was that all out loud?” He doesn’t want to open his eyes and break the spell but there’s nothing he can do now but bite his lip and rest his forehead against his knees in solitary embarrassment. Gon has a mind like a steel trap. Drunk and sad and lonely as he is, Killua will be hearing about freckles and stubble and crinkley noses for a long time. He thinks about what the pale little puppet on the skateboard would say if he could see himself now.

 

“...Yeah. Hey, Killua.” Somehow Gon sounds closer to the phone than he did before, as if his lips are brushing the microphone.

 

“What?” Killua sounds cautious again, guard back up if only just a little.

 

“Hey. Killua. _Killua_.”

 

“ _What_?” he takes another long drink. Maybe if he closes his eyes again he can enjoy the spinning feeling sans the feeling of awkward regret. It only kind of works.

 

“ _I love you_.”

 

On second thought, closing his eyes might have been a mistake because Killua sees a short kid with tall green boots in a hundred different settings, backgrounds, scenarios. He sees Gon in every moment he experienced as a kid, confused and scared as he wished to hear those exact words from his best friend. He sees Gon as a teenager, strong and magnetic, telling Killua the exact thing he had been waiting so long to hear but in the wrong place at the wrong time. The man they’re fighting against takes the opportunity to land a punch against Gon’s solar plexus, knocking him unconscious and leaving Killua, stunned and breathless, to finish things off. He sees Gon as he is now, and feels even more disoriented.

 

“Gon,” Killua has to say something to ground him again, he feels like he’s orbiting. No surprise that the first thing that comes to mind is, “Unzip your pants.”

 

Finally, Gon laughs and although it cracks his voice a little its a huge relief. Killua can hear the stress almost melt away. He can pinpoint the exact moment that Gon’s fingers brush his skin. Hell, Killua can even tell that Gon’s going commando although there’s nothing special or new about that.

 

“You’re so weird…” Killua sighs and he slips his hand past the tight band of his jeans and under the decorative elastic of the lingerie which he justifies through claims of practicality and comfort. Flexibility.

 

“ _Mmm_ … Killua… Keep talking,” Gon pulls his cargo pants down below his ass and fumbles around for the little vial of lotion he keeps despite being teased endlessly for actually keeping things in those pockets.

 

“Damn you…” Since Killua’s in the comfort of their apartment and he’s a spoiled, kinky slob he can reach out a find a little bottle of lube from almost any seat. Killua and Gon take themselves in hand and try their best to mimic what the other would be doing to them if they weren't separated by an ocean and several countries.

 

“ _Killua_ … Just- _anything_. I can, _ah_ , I can hear you _breathing_ -” Gon starts at the base and works in quick, sharp, methodical strokes. He thinks about a small pink tongue darting between shiny lips and narrow blue eyes.

 

“- _Shit_ , ok. Just… _hah_ , mm. _Gon_ , your fingers feel like sandpaper and it’s so much better than this,” Killua thinks about muscular legs and thick hair and a body that needs too much and never gets enough. He works his hand slow and sure, rubs his thumb over the tip and lets his voice hang on a wordless cry.

 

Gon grunts into the receiver, chanting Killua’s name like it’s the first word he ever learned and the last one he ever wants to say. His hips are lifting and tilting. Killua tries to keep talking but runs out of brain space as the pressure builds. He starts cussing like mad and choking out these high, almost feminine moans. He can feel his aura flare but can’t be bothered to give a fuck if he shorts out the electricity for the building again.

 

“H-how close are you, _ah_ , K _illua_ , I’m-”

 

“ _Fuck_ me- just _fuck_ , _Gon_ , close- _close_ -”

 

There’s a bit of a lag in the connection, their time zones are different and neither of them say anything but a shared intake of tight air signals their orgasms which shake, shudder and bring them full circle with hot tears in red rimmed eyes.

 

“...Killua…”

 

“Hmm?” Both of them sound as breathless as they feel. Gon can hear the familiar, muffled sound of irritated neighbors despite Killua’s attempts to cover the noise with his palm.

 

“You fried the fuses again, didn’t you?”


End file.
